


How To Treat A Prince

by SweatersAndScarves (SlaveToMyKeyboard)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sgrub Session, Arranged Quadrants, Claiming, Earth was conquered by HIC, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Gill!Kat, Human/Troll Relationship, M/M, Mental Anguish, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Ownership, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Slavery, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-05-19 10:33:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5964136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlaveToMyKeyboard/pseuds/SweatersAndScarves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dualscar leers at you from the seat opposite, his arms resting on the back either side of him, fanning his cape out over his shoulders. You just glare in response, keeping your fins pinned back as much as they twitch with the urge to flare. He laughs, bitter and husky, shaking his head as he turns to look out of the window. Your name is Eridan Ampora, and for your sixth wiggling day you’re being taken to visit the only creature on the planet who’s worth more than you are.</p><p>And he’s yours.</p><p>Or at least he will be."</p><p>Alternative title - 'In which a certain author fails to write anything other than EriKar and decides to delve into the world of slavestuck, involves a disobedient gift, a spoiled Prince, an assassination of the monarch, two cases of outstanding and most likely terminal stupidity, multiple occurrences of a certain older sea-dweller being the biggest douche ever to set foot on land, a casualty in the form of a beheaded training dummy, a blue-blood who has never heard of privacy, and several very expensive fabrics being ruined in unconventional ways.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

You look down at the key in your hand, shining gold and pristine with a scarlet jewel and intricate patterns. Then the carriage rocks and you almost drop it, your heart jumping into your throat as it half-slips through your fingers. You clamp your hand around the cold metal, bringing it to your chest and holding it close over your blood-pusher.

“Don’t lose that lad, or wwe’re gonna havve to shoot ‘im free wwith the crosshairs.”

Dualscar leers at you from the seat opposite, his arms resting on the back either side of him, fanning his cape out over his shoulders. You just glare in response, keeping your fins pinned back as much as they twitch with the urge to flare. He laughs, bitter and husky, shaking his head as he turns to look out of the window. Your name is Eridan Ampora, and for your sixth wiggling day you’re being taken to visit the only creature on the planet who’s worth more than you are.

And he’s yours.

Or at least he will be.

You have the key’s outline imprinted across your palm by the time you arrive, and you give up your balance to keep it there as you get out. Dualscar snickers when you nearly miss the step, but you keep your head high and straighten out your cape. The building is more plain than you expected, no ornate decorations or colours plastered on the walls. You guess it’s an attempt at secrecy, trying to make sure nobody finds out what – or who – is being kept inside. The drones guarding the entrance kind of give it away though. You don’t look at them when you walk past, keeping your head down and following in Dualscar’s footsteps like a lost wiggler.

A blue-blood greets you, dropping to one knee with a “Welcome your Domination” and then a nod to you, “My Prince.”

You nod back and ‘His Imperial Domination’ Dualscar grunts in acknowledgement. The blue-blood rises, and begins leading you further inside.

It feels like you’ve gone in circles, but eventually he stops by a door made of dull, black metal, locked and bolted in at least five different places. He takes out a key for each one and unlocks them, then taps on the door before opening it. But he doesn’t enter, instead standing aside to give you access. Dualscar does the same, forcing you to take a step with a sharp prod to your lower spine, then another, until you have both feet planted firmly over the threshold.

They room beyond his _huge_ , maybe even bigger than your own respiteblock back at the palace. Gold and red are everywhere, in decorations on the walls and rugs on the floor. There’s a recuperacoon filled with royal sopor in one corner, half-hidden behind a heavy, velvet curtain. In another corner stands a training dummy, a sickle embedded in its head and sewn-up gashes scoring shapes across its body. Then at the centre, plush cushions and blankets adorn an Emperor-size sleeping platform, drapes hanging around it like a cocoon and drawing your eyes to the small form sprawled in the middle.

He’s draped in shimmering jewellery from head to foot, gold and red to match the room, with the odd glimpse of violet jumping out amongst the patterns. But every precious stone in the world means nothing when you meet his eyes, the crimson halo around his pupils so bright that their gaze feels as if it should burn. It still amazes you, even though you knew about his blood colour, how he’s the only one of his kind, rarer than the Empress herself. Or at least, he was.

The key in your hand was not always destined to be yours; many sweeps ago, it was to be passed to the Empress, a token of appreciation from her home planet, a desperate attempt to win her favour. But before she could even hear word of the offer, the ship she resided on was destroyed, taking Her Imperial Condescension down with it. Only a few out of the thousand strong fleet that had accompanied her remained, dragging their limping vessels back to the planet with naught but a flash of light to blame for the devastation that had been wrought upon them. ‘There was no ship’ they had said, ‘our sensors picked up nothing’, ‘there were no planets in sight’. It was as if the ships had just spontaneously burst. Poof. Gone. The enemy hid themselves impeccably, and left without a single trace or threat left behind. Or so the story goes. You happen to think that they did in fact leave a threat, and the remaining crew were so shit scared that they promised not to say anything. But they’re all dead now anyway; driven mad by the dayterrors that plagued their minds even during the night, until they either ended it themselves or did something worthy of a death sentence.

With the Heiress still barely out of her first pupation and the empire throw into turmoil, it was decided that the most eligible Troll of the next most royal hue would become Trollkind’s new leader. That ‘leader’ was Dualscar Ampora, and by extension you became the Heir, crowned Prince of Alternia, taking the place of the Heiress who was moved off planet to a safe, undisclosed location. You were only two at the time, but less than a sweep later it was arranged that you would be the one to receive the Empress’ gift. When you were three, Dualscar told you he would be a play-mate, a companion. At four, this changed to a quadrantmate. Then at five, he finally told you the whole story.

You are a breeder, a trait marked by your violet forelock, but a completely useless one since Trolls began their symbiosis with the mother grub. Your gift’s name is Karkat Vantas and he is a mutant, with cherry red blood and biology just skewed enough to be compatible with yours. The two of you are essentially an experiment, to see if a pure lineage would be a viable way of spawning more little mutants, rather than relying on the mother grub to pick out and combine the right genes. If it’s successful, multiple fuchsias could be born in the same generation, giving the Imperial line more of a fighting chance against assassination. If not… You don’t really want to think about it.

The blue-blood clicks his fingers, snapping you out of your daze. Heat radiates across your face with the realisation that you were staring at Karkat, but the Troll in question doesn’t seem to notice. He slides onto the floor, his adornments jingling as settles himself into a kneeling position on one of the rugs. His expression is unreadable; lips in a relaxed line, brows set level, eyes round and strong amongst his soft features. He’s emotionless. He’s beautiful. The blue-blood gently urges you closer, and without thinking you kneel down level with Karkat. His shoulders tense ever so slightly, eyes widening, but he doesn’t move or make a sound.

You spot the golden collar around his neck, the old Empress’ sign embellishing the lock that sits just above his sternum. Your fingers twitch, flexing against the key still tightly in your grasp. Once you take that collar of, he’ll be yours, _all yours_. Your chest tightens at that thought. What if he doesn’t like you? He’ll have to act like he does obviously, but as the seconds pass it’s becoming harder to ignore the fact that you’re falling flushed at first sight, and all you want is for him to feel the same. You don’t show it though. You can’t. Dualscar said that he may be treated like royalty, but he’s still just a pampered pet that needs to know his place.

You bring your empty hand up and place it under his chin, tilting his head upwards to give you access to the collar. God, he’s so warm, hotter than anything living being you’ve ever felt before. He shivers at your touch, closing his eyes as you put the key in the lock and twist. With a single click, the metal loop comes undone, clattering to the floor behind him. You pull his exquisite little face closer, waiting until his eyes open before you speak.

“Wwho do you belong to?”

He growls, “No-one.”


	2. Chapter 2

 

You flinch slightly, letting your hand recoil in favour of supressing a squeak. What does he mean ‘no-one?’ He’s yours now isn’t he? Karkat’s features settle into a scowl, his gaze drifting over your shoulder. You cautiously follow it, turning your head to see Dualscar standing in the doorway.

“Time to go,” He tells you, “wwe’vve got a meetin’ wwith the delegates this afternoon.”

You frown, but nod all the same. When you turn back to Karkat, he’s looking at the floor, denying you one last glance at those beautiful eyes. You stand up in spite of the pity clutching at your chest, and follow your Ancestor out of the building.

You slam the door shut on your carriage with a growl, “You said he’d be mine.”

Dualscar narrows his eyes at you, “Yes, an’ noww he is.”

“You heard wwhat he said,” You say through gritted teeth, “he said he belongs to no-one, therefore he’s _not mine_.”

“I said you wwould owwn him, legally and in wwritin’, I didn’t say he’d agree wwith it.”

“Wwhat the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

He leans close to you, lip curling to flash is teeth, “Wwhat it means, is that if you wwant him to like you so bad, you need to stop bein’ such a wwiggler an’ decide wwhat you’re gonna do about it.”

“Wwhat _I’m_ gonna do about it?” You scoff, “An’ wwhen did I say I wwanted him to like me? I’m not goin’ to go around beggin’ for the pity a someone wwho ain’t even on the Haemospectrum, I’vve got standards.”

A smirk creeps onto his face, “Your body seems to disagree.”

“Wwhat?”

“I could smell the pity on you from the moment you touched him,” Dualscar says, and you can tell that he’s enjoying it, “you’re beggin’ wwhether you like it or not.”

The burn of embarrassment prickles your cheeks, but you do your best to snarl through it. You don’t mind looking like a breeder, in fact you think the streak of violet in your hair is one of your best features, but the pheromones are definitely something you could deal without. Every time you have a concupiscent reaction to someone, your body feels the need to broadcast it to everything in the vicinity with a sense of smell. The worst part is that you’re completely immune to your own scent, so you can’t even tell if it’s happening.

When you get back to the palace, you have a very long soak in the bath in preparation for the meeting. The servants probably think you’re over-doing it with the amount of soap and perfume you used, but reeking of flowers is better than radiating your own pity to everyone.

The event is mildly less boring than watching paint dry, and everyone is so hung up on out-doing each other, that you doubt they would have noticed you even if you’d doused yourself with pure lavender oil and crawled across their laps. You might have been a mild annoyance at best in that case, but as it is you’re there solely for the reason of looking pretty – which is an admittedly easy task for a sea-dweller like you. Easy, yes, but interesting? No. Four hours in and you’re almost on the verge of actually striking up a conversation with one of these pompous big-wigs, when a familiarly warm presence settles between your shoulder blades.

“Missed me Eri?” Says the source of the warmth.

“Davve!” You spin around to beam at your Moirail, swapping a much-needed hug for grabbing his hand in an attempt at maintaining your dignity.

He kneels down and kisses the bulky amethyst that adorns your middle finger. It’s all a show for the guests, since usually he’d just hold his arms out and let you smother him, but you have to admit that it does feel nice to have someone actually treating you like a Prince and not an ornament.

Dualscar clears his throat as Dave stands, and when you glance over your shoulder he gives you a subtle nod and waving motion that means ‘you can go now’. Thank the _Gods_. You almost want to thank Dualscar too, but relieving you of your useless position doesn’t exactly make up for what happened with your other ‘present’, so you just nod back and leave the hall with Dave. You link arms with him as you walk in silence to your respiteblock, holding in everything until you curl up together in the hanging plane and finally let out a long sigh.

Dave wishes you a happy wriggling day and massages the tension from your shoulders as you tell him about your night and the meeting, because that’s literally the only interesting thing that’s happened in the week that he’s been gone. You’ve missed being with him like this, how the steady beating of his heart in your ear is just as relaxing as the way his fingers ease apart the knots in your muscles.

“I just don’t understand wwhy he rejected me like that.” You mumble your last sentence into his shirt, draped over him like a sea-dweller snuggleplane.

“Vantas or the telepathic kid?”

You frown and smack his arm lightly, “Vvantas, an’ I’ll havve you knoww that I could’vve taken that little cerulean if I wwanted. His master just didn’t look like the negotiatin’ type.”

Okay so perhaps the party wasn’t completely boring. One of the delegates had brought their slave with them, and if his master hadn’t kept him on such a tight leash – literally – you might have had a chance at actually getting some experience before you have to try and romance your new mutant.

“Sure you could have.” Dave draws slow circles around your horns, stopping you from interrupting by calling him out on his sarcasm. He never plays fair. “So what’s the deal with Vantas? You pity him?”

“No.” You lie, and Dave sees right through it.

“ _Right_ ,” He says, “then why are your panties in such a monumental twist over this?”

“Okay maybe I pity him a little – _a little_.” You emphasise, pinching your invisible amount of miniscule pity between two fingers to show him, “But it’s not like it matters, he’ll nevver feel the same.”

Dave hums and pets your hair, “Maybe you should show him?”

You shift so that you can look at him, “Wwhat do you mean?”

“Well maybe instead of assuming that because you ‘own’ him he’s automatically got to be nice to you, it might be a good idea to give him some actual reasons to see you as something other than the guy who pays to keep him locked up.”

You chew on your lip as you think his suggestion over, “Are you sayin’ I should try to be friends wwith him?”

“Yeah, and even if he’s not flushed for you, it’ll stop things being quite as awkward when you guys have to do the do.”

“ _Daaavve_ _._ ” You whine, hiding your violet face in his shoulder. He’s always embarrassing you with his human phrases like that. 

He chuckles and ruffles your hair. You catch his wrist to prevent further damage to your already dishevelled locks, and reposition his hand against your face.

“Fine,” You say as he runs his thumb across your cheek, “guess I’ll try.”

***

Between Imperial business and Dualscar’s general lack of care for anyone other than himself, it’s over a perigee before you visit Karkat again. Your Ancestor informs you rather bluntly over breakfast on the night of the visit, and you almost choke on your caviar.

“Wwe’ll be leavvin’ soon, so finish up an’ meet me out front,” He says, ignoring your plight as he gets up and strides out of the room, “an’ if you’re not quick about it then I get the mutant to myself.”

You cough your airways clear and scramble to follow him; you quickly learnt that Dualscar’s ‘soon’ usually means ‘right now’.

“Remember, be nice.” Dave whispers as you kiss his cheek.

“A course,” You reply, “am I evver anythin’ else?”

He raises an eyebrow, so you pout until he shakes his head and claps you on the shoulder, “Good luck bro.”

Luck, yes, you’re going to need a lot of that.

The ride seems quicker than before, and doesn’t give you nearly enough time to think about how you’re going to be nice to Karkat. You’re not exactly the most well-socialised Troll, in fact you only have a Moirail through yet another arranged quadrant. You couldn’t imagine your life without Dave now though. Hopefully this one will turn out just as well.

The same blue-blood greets you once again, and Dualscar takes this opportunity to mention that he’s Karkat’s ‘handler’. It worries you that someone so small and… soft-looking needs a handler, and when you’re pushed into a room alone with him again, your stomach does a flip that has nothing to do with his rather skimpy outfit. That still doesn’t help your nerves though. He’s wearing less jewellery this time, but the same embroidered silk makes up his loose-fitting shirt and the shorts barely visible underneath.

He eyes you from his cocoon of blankets, then looks back at the television suspended on the wall. When did _that_ get there?

“Vantas,” The blue-blood snaps, earning the mutant’s attention in the form of a glare, “you have a visitor.”

Karkat growls, maintaining the stare as he turns off the monitor like he’s shooting it with the controller.

You puff out your chest, letting your fins relax into a half-flare. Be nice. Nice but not begging. Be his friend but also his owner. Command respect through kindness. You can totally do all of that.

“What do you want fish-breath?”

Karkat’s question catches you off-guard, and for a moment you lose your words. Then a low growl rumbles behind you, so you collect yourself and put up a hand.

“I can handle this.” You say over your shoulder.

The blue-blood – and Dualscar, to your surprise – backs down. Okay, one crisis averted. You take a deep breath and walk over to meet Karkat as he drags himself lazily up from the pile.

“I’vve come to check up on you,” You force your nicest smile, “wwe didn’t get much time to talk before so –”

“Oh God you’re trying to be my friend aren’t you?” Karkat interrupts, pulling a face that could scare wigglers.

You mirror it, “Wwell I wwas goin’ to be nice, but seein’ as you’re still an ornery little git I might havve to reconsider.”

“Yeah right, I bet you were just going to be ‘nice’ until I dropped my guard and then it’s back to the Highblood superiority shit, well news flash shitstain; you might own my papers, but I’m not your fucking cullslave, and I’m not _his_ either.” He stabs a claw in the direction of his handler, “If you want my loyalty then you’re damn well going to earn it.”

It’s only now, when his cheeks are flushed red with anger and he’s glaring at you with the force of a thousand suns, that you notice the lack of burning colour in his eyes. The scarlet rings have been reduced to a few slivers of colour amongst steely grey, so much so that he could probably be mistaken for a burgundy if not for his horns. This is what most six-sweep-olds are supposed to look like – it’ll be another full sweep or so before you start to show your colour properly – but you’d previously assumed that his mutation made him the exception.

“Wwhat happened to your eyes?” You ask, ignoring his previous rant.

He steps back so that his legs touch the platform, his bravado faltering momentarily as he casts his gaze to the ground, features contorting as if reacting to a bad smell, “The drugs wore off.” He mumbles.

You frown, “Drugs?”

His head snaps up, voice and face full of renewed fury, “The ones they use to check your blood colour, because someone thought it’d make me more appealing if my oculars looked like fucking nutrition platters that someone had slaughtered a Lusus on, _my_ Lusus specifically; it’s not like any other freak is going to be this colour.” He gestures sharply to his eyes, even though they no longer resemble his description. “I mean that’s what makes me such a fucking special flower, right? People wouldn’t look twice if I wasn’t a beacon of rejected genes, just waiting to be coddled and locked away.”

You should be offended by the way his speaking to you, or at least afraid of the fact that he looks on the verge of punching someone and has a sickle within leaping distance. But it’s after this outburst that something in your pan clicks.

“You don’t like your blood colour?”

“Of course not!” He shrieks, “I’d be dead if you Highbloods didn’t think that having a mutant for a pet makes you somehow better than anyone else, and even if I did manage a miraculous escape I’d be killed or captured by some other bulgetongue out there, I’ll never be able to live on my own without staying up all day fucking terrified of someone breaking down my door, and worst of all is that my own Moirail can’t even touch me because I’ve got to stay ‘pure’ for assholes like _you_. So no, I don’t like my blood colour, in fact I’d say that despising it with every miniscule, fucked-up fibre of my _entire being_ would be a more apt description of how I feel.”

The pity surges into your chest like a wave in a storm, crushing itself into every tiny gap until you feel like you’re going to burst. His Moirail isn’t allowed to touch him? You can almost feel Dave gently rubbing your back as you think of it, and you shudder at the thought of losing contact in such an important quadrant.

“What, am I too much freak for you?”

Karkat breaks your thoughts. He’s making it sound as if he hates himself, how can he think like that when he’s got such rare, precious blood in his veins? He’s the Empire’s treasure, you’d give anything to be up on a pedestal like that.

“No, you’re practically royalty,” You say, “if I wwasn’t a breeder you’d be evven more vvaluable than I am.”

“It’s not about fucking value! I don’t care that someone would pay their entire life’s savings just to have me locked up in their underhive, and that’s also why I’m nowhere near royalty; yes, I have expensive stuff, yes I have a huge respiteblock, whoop-de-fucking-do, guess I need all of that shit if I’m going to be spending my whole fucking _life_ imprisoned there.” He plops down onto the platform, head in his hands, “But who am I to say anything? Not like I have rights, I’m just a fucking possession for some asshats to gawk at, I could never be anything better so why the fuck do I even try?”

“Stop it.” You tell him, “Just fucking _stop it_. You think I like bein’ escorted everywwhere? You think it’s fun to sit at parties an’ havve older Trolls look at you like you’re a piece a meat? You think I’m okay wwith only seein’ my Moirail wwhen the fuckin’ Empire can spare him?”

Karkat scowls up at you, nubby teeth clamped over his bottom lip and his eyes narrowing as if he’s close to tears. Oh God you really hope he doesn’t cry, you can’t deal with people crying, that’s why you like Dave. Then he turns away from you, pulling his knees up to his chest.

“Just go alright?” He sounds tired, like all of his anger drained away and left him exhausted, “You can own me or whatever, but if you’ve come here to tell me that you understand me and I’m being a wiggler by whining about my perfect life, then I’d prefer it if you kindly fucked off and went back to yours.”

“No.” You state, taking up residence on one of the – very comfy – rugs by his platform, “I’m not leavvin’ until wwe havve a proper convversation.”

He’s quiet for a couple of minutes, then he tips his head back and sighs. He flops onto his back, before rolling over onto his stomach to look at you.

“You’re fucking weird you know that?”

You smile, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could have made this two chapters, but I was in the mood for a nice big update, I hope you enjoyed it!


	3. Chapter 3

“So your Moirail is a human?” Karkat says, taking another handful of grubcorn from the bowl between you, “How the fuck does that work?”

You shrug, “Like any other Moirallegence, wwe talk about things that are botherin’ us, Davve paps me if I get upset or anythin’, wwe havve feelings jams in the pile a cushy shit in my block.” Another shift of your shoulders finishes the sentence. You can see how someone like Karkat might struggle to imagine having a non-Troll Moirail, but for you it’s as natural as breathing underwater, so you don’t really know how to explain it. “Wwhat about your ‘rail? They a Troll or…?”

He nods, “He’s a yellow-blood, we’ve known each other since we were wigglers. Guess I should be grateful that the boss doesn’t have any issues with his psionics touching my fucking pristine skin, or it wouldn’t be much of a palerom.”

“Not one for talkin’?”

“No I’m just more of an advice _giver_ , I don’t like airing out all of my shit for everyone,” He screws his face up a little, “he needs the help more than I do anyway.”

It took you a two-hour-long movie and many, awkwardly unanswered questions to get even that little of an insight on Karkat’s personal life, so you decide to leave it there. You can definitely believe him when he says that he’s not one for talking his problems through. It’s probably not good for him to be that way – he’s made it clear that he has plenty of issues going on in his pan – but you guess his Moirail will sort that out for him when the time comes. Maybe you should try and get some more information on this pissblood guy? Find out who you’re up against when you start vying for Karkat’s affections; you don’t care if you’re going for red and not pale, you don’t need some over-protective Lowblood getting in the way.

But before you get a chance to pry further, Dualscar returns – you didn’t even notice that he’d left – to drag you back to the palace. It felt like you were being dragged too; the heavy sensation that pulled at your chest as you took one last look at Karkat and then ran down the hall after your Ancestor. Honestly, you’re pretty sure he’s going to just leave you somewhere one night, not notice until he gets back and then say “ _oh wwell it wwas only my competition for the throne, no harm done in losin’ ‘im, am I right?_ ” Fucking Ancestors, Lowbloods don’t know how lucky they are not to have these ancient assholes interfering with their lives, trying to Lusus you all over the place and doing a terrible fucking job of it. You even _have_ a Lusus already, and yet he feels the need to teach you about ‘being a proper Ampora’ and rubbing it in your face how he’s basically an older – and supposedly better – version of you. Yeah, right, because you’re really going to listen to the guy who just barely has a Kismesis and became ruler by default. You can’t believe you idolised this guy just one sweep ago.

You keep your mouth shut when he jokes about you “stinkin’ of desperation” again though. You know your way around a battlefield, but Dualscar wouldn’t have any problems snapping you like a twig. Instead, you save up everything for Dave, who pats your back as you scream into a pillow, and sits through you ranting well into the morning. When you’re all talked out, you watch the sunrise together for the first time in perigees and fall asleep on his shoulder, listening to him talk about the idiotic things that his human friends did when he stayed with them.

***

Visits with Karkat happen once a perigee, and each one becomes the highlight of its season. Turns out that Karkat isn’t as bad as you thought, even if he is still one of the grumpiest little Trolls you’ve ever met. He won’t talk about himself, so you spend most of the time either watching some of his impressive movie collection – he calls it ‘cultural education’– or retelling Dave’s stories of the other humans. Karkat says he hates them already even though he hasn’t met them, and you get the sudden desire to bring Dave along with you one time. Maybe you could ask Dualscar about it next time you’re due a visit? All he can do is say no.

And that's exactly what he does.

“Why the fuck _not_?” Your voice comes out as a whine and you stamp your foot like a wiggler, even though you’re seven sweeps – tonight actually – and apparently you shouldn’t be acting this way.

“Because I only just trust _you_ wwith ‘im, let alone a _Human_ ,” Dualscar replies, “noww stop yer wwhingin’ an’ get dressed.”

“I am the fuckin’ prince an’ it is my fuckin’ wrigglin’ day,” You tell him, fanning out your fins, “I don’t wwant some stupid party, I wwant to vvisit Karkat an’ take Davve wwith me.”

“Wwell you don’t make the rules, so too fuckin’ bad, now do as I said an’ get dressed so that I don’t havve to explain to evveryone wwhy their Prince is still drippin’ sopor.” He slams the respiteblock door in your face, boots clicking as he strides down the hall.

You ball your hands into fists until your nails draw blood, then take your frustrations out on a particularly large pillow. The feathers stick to your slime-tacky skin, and when you finally follow Dualscar’s instructions, you convince yourself that you chose to do it for your own convenience, and not because he asked you to.

Your seventh wriggling day is just as bad as your last, perhaps even worse considering that you don’t get to see Karkat or Dave _at all_. The nobles your Ancestor invited either coo over how much you’ve grown, or whisper about the fact that you’re nothing like Dualscar. You’re not sure if that should be a compliment or an insult. None of them talk directly to you of course, so yet again you’re relegated to sitting on your little throne and pretending that you enjoy acting like a living statue. It’s boring and degrading, and when you’re in your ‘coon you start counting the days until Karkat turns seven, because apparently that’s the next time you’ll be able to visit him.

Only five perigees. It feels like an eternity, and you’re not sure when or why you became so dependent on the regularity of Karkat’s company, but it’s only five perigees.

Another party for Dualscar’s wriggling day, most of which you spend out on the balcony so that you don’t cough your gills out from the cigar smoke. Nobody bothers you, and by morning you’ve memorised at least a dozen pictures in the stars. You wonder if Dave and Karkat can see them.

Four.

Your Moirail returns, and you wait up into the day for him, crying into his uniform before you can even get to the pile. He doesn’t mind though, he never minds. You show him the pictures in the stars and he helps you draw them out and name them. ‘Ninja Crow’ is your favourite.

Three.

Dualscar takes you out on his new ship, and surprisingly it’s actually an enjoyable experience. Even the old cod fish himself seems to be less obnoxious, and he lets you try the special liquor he’s been saving up. It tastes awful, but you drink it anyway. You don’t think about Karkat all night, until the red sky of sunrise reminds you of his eyes. You drown that thought below deck in another glass of whatever’s on offer.

Two.

You almost sneak out of the palace one night, until a guard catches you and makes a big show of hauling you back to Dualscar for punishment. He just glares down at you in shame and sends you to your block.

One.

Dualscar doesn’t talk to you for a week, and honestly you couldn’t care less. Then when he does deign you worthy of his attention, it’s to have a discussion about what’s expected of you by the time you reach eight.

“ _Claim_ him?” You squirm in your seat at the wording, all sorts of horrible thoughts about how exactly you’re supposed to ‘claim’ Karkat running through your pan.

Dualscar rolls his eyes, “You don’t havve to do anythin’ drastic, this ain’t one a those abysmal romance movvies you’vve been wwatchin’ lately, just get the kid used to your contact; mark ‘im, kiss ‘im a feww times, make sure he knowws he’s yours.” He’s being oddly calm, almost _understanding_ about it, regarding you with this softness that you didn’t think you’d ever see on his scarred face.

Then he sighs and actually _pats you on the shoulder_. You’re almost creeped out at this point. Actually yes, you are creeped out, this is the most contact you’ve had with him since he carried your drunken ass to your ‘cupe after you’d finished spewing your insides over the edge of the ship that one perigee. You don’t even remember that either.

“I knoww howw it sounds, but evven through all a that wweird arguin’ you twwo do, I can tell that you’ve got feelins for each other, most Trolls wwith arranged quadrants ain’t that lucky.” He gives your arm an almost painful squeeze, then sits back and returns to his papers. “Make the most of it.”

You nod and mumble a “Yes Sir” then get up and leave his block.

***

Your bile sac is tying itself in knots when the night finally arrives, and you can’t decide if Karkat knowing what you have to do will be better or worse. Instead of going off to do whatever he does and leaving you with Karkat’s handler, Dualscar stays this time, leaning on the doorframe with his arms folded and a look that says ‘ _Don’t fuck this up or I’m disowning you as my spawn_ ’. Thanks, that’s really reassuring, oh primary contributor to your genomic structure.

“Vantas, present yourself.” The blue-blood instructs.

Karkat doesn’t argue, sinking to his knees in silence save for the tinkling of his coat of jewellery, legs spread so that his ankles cross over behind him, and his hands placed neatly on his thighs. You want to… to touch him, so badly, make him yours like Dualscar said. But then you see his eyes filled with red when they shouldn’t be and suddenly it all feels so wrong. It can’t just be a coincidence that he happens to be completely obedient after he’s been given whatever makes his eyes colour like that, it just can’t.

“I’m not doin’ it like this,” You tell the expectant adults firmly, “not wwhilst you’re fuckin’ watchin’ us like wwe can’t be trusted, and not wwhen he’s on drugs that fuck up his eyes an’ God knowws wwhat else.”

Dualscar closes his eyes, taking a deep breath like he’s having to restrain himself, “Look, don’t be difficult about this, just kiss the kid an’ wwalk awway, you don’t evven havve to look at him –”

“No! I’m not takin’ advvantage a someone like this, it’s not fair.”

“ _Life_ ain’t fair,” He snarls, “an’ the sooner you learn that, the better.”

Then with a sweep of his cape, he’s gone. You turn back to Karkat, and for once the frown he’s wearing isn’t one of anger. His eyes – his damn too-red eyes – search your face with disbelief as you kneel down opposite him.

“I’m gonna protect you Kar,” You say to him, “an’ I don’t care wwhat anyone thinks.”

He nods, tears soaking his lashes as he tries to blink them away. He’s scared. He tries to cover for it with anger because it’s the only other thing he’s got, but under it all he’s afraid and he hates himself and you pity him so much that just looking away is like a shot through your blood pusher. But you have to leave, if you didn’t then you’d end up giving in, end up doing as you’re expected out of compassion not obligation, but on the outside it’s all the same. You get up and leave the block, making sure that the blue-blood locks Karkat in before you return to your carriage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this ended up a lot more... Feelsy than I had intended. This was supposed to be the smooch chapter and it ended up as the 'Eridan hits his rebellious teen phase and Dualscar attempts to be the dad' chapter.
> 
> Ah well, it can't be kisses and cuddles all of the time, especially not with these pitiful losers. Hope everyone's still liking this regardless?


	4. Chapter 4

You give it two nights because that’s all you can bear. Dualscar doesn’t say anything about your outburst, and when you shuffle into his block one night with a question burning on your tongue, he gets out Karkat’s paperwork and talks you through it.

“So after I’vve done all a this claimin’ business wwith him, wwill I owwn him properly?” You ask, glancing at the documents in front of you.

“Yes,” He replies, “you can evven fire that tree trunk of a handler if you like.”

Oh yes, yes you would like, you would like very much. But there’s more important things to discuss.

“An’ his quadrants, do I get a say in those?”

Dualscar raises an eyebrow, “I suppose, not sure he’ll like you much if you cut him off though, I thought you wwanted to be friends wwith the little bugger?”

You shake your head, “His Moirail can’t touch him, an’ it’s all ‘cause a me, ‘cause Kar’s got to stay pure or somethin’, but I wwant to get rid a that.” You blush as you realise that you let Karkat’s nickname slip.

Your Ancestor notices and his mouth hints at a smirk, but he doesn’t mention it, “Alright, it’ll be your call so if you think you can share him, go ahead.”

“It ain’t sharin’, wwe’re gonna be red an’ they’re gonna be pale.”

“Wwoww, you’vve really soaked up all the shit that kid spouts about quadrants havven’t you?”

“It’s not shit.” You grumble, but Dualscar isn’t listening anymore. You clear your throat, voice louder when you next speak, “I wwant to see him, an’ I wwant us to be alone wwithout a hint a those shitty drugs in sight.”

“Of course, your highness, an’ wwould you be wwantin’ sugar wwith that?” His tone is mocking, but once he’s done laughing, he does as you asked and calls up a carriage.

Karkat’s handler looks like he’s seen a ghost when you arrive, and you can’t help smirking because he fucking deserves to be shit scared of you.

“Thought I’d scared you off.” Karkat says when you enter his block.

“A course not,” You’re about to continue, when you notice the lack of a door closing behind you.

The blue-blood is standing guard like always, hands behind his back and gaze unfocussed in front of him, like he’s looking through the wall rather than at it. You clear your throat but he ignores you.

“I thought I said for us to be _alone_.”

He tenses up, “Please forgive me but I cannot comply with that, I must observe all interactions with Vantas to ensure that he –”

“Remains pure?” You finish for him, spite lacing your words. The blue-blood stays quiet. You scoff, “Wwell it wwas me he wwas stayin’ pure for and I’m the only one here, so you are no longer needed, noww givve me the keys and _get out_.”

He hesitates and it makes you want to see if Karkat’s sickle is just for show or not. Then his chest sags a little, “Of course, I shall be waiting outside.”

He puts the keys on the floor then _finally_ fucking leaves, albeit reluctantly and with what you think was a growl, but you haven’t got time to teach him his place tonight. Not when there’s a gorgeous, pitiful cherry-blood – who isn’t covered in gold for once – waiting on the sleeping platform for you.

“Nicely done fish-face,” Karkat says as you retrieve the keys, “I’ve been trying to get him to leave for sweeps.”

You climb on the mattress next to him, “If I havve my wway then he wwon’t be comin’ back.”

He sits up, and you could swear that he leans just that little bit closer than usual, “Are you here to claim me? Now that I’m not ‘fucked up’?” He speaks matter-of-factly, lacking a good portion of his usual spite.

“You knoww I didn’t mean it like that,” You say, your eyes dropping to watch your claws trace the swirls on Karkat’s duvet, before they drift up the curves of his body to his face again, “and yes I am, but only if you wwant to.”

He tilts his head, “If _I_ want to? Isn’t the whole point of claiming that it’s, y’know, non-consensual? Or that it doesn’t matter what the fuck I think because you’re going to do it anyway?”

“It might be for some, but I –” the words catch in your throat, and you have to look away from him before you continue, “I like you Kar, an’ you probably knoww already ‘cause you can smell it or wwhatevver, but I wwanted to tell you anywway.” You pause to swallow, giving Karkat an opportunity to chip in again.

“Smell it?”

“In my pheromones, you _can_ smell it can’t you?”

He leans closer and sniffs, so close that if you didn’t have your scarf on you’d have felt his warm breath across your neck. Damn your impeccable fashion sense.

“Um, not really?” He says after moving back, his face the most adorable picture of bemusement, “I mean you smell nice I guess, but it’s not – I can’t tell what you’re feeling or anything.”

His cheeks have gathered a blush by the time he trails off, whilst your own are aching with a restrained grin. He can’t tell, your pheromones don’t work on him, he has no idea that you’ve been flushcrushing on him pretty much since the night you met. Oh thank the stars, and to think that you spent days worrying about if he’d been so defensive because he could smell your pity for him, you’re such an idiot.

“That uh, that’s nevver happened before,” You admit, “but that’s not the point here, wwhat I wwas tryin’ to say is that I don’t wwant to force you into anythin’.” Even after time to think about the words you want to use, they still won’t materialise right in your thinkpan, so you make the executive decision to drop the explanation and just come out with it, “So can, can I touch you?”

His eyes go wide, his mouth opening slowly and then clamping back shut. Eventually he nods, tentatively holding out a hand. You reach for it, hovering below his palm until you catch his eyes again, receiving another firm nod of reassurance. He watches you slowly encompass his fingers with your own, his heartbeat pulsing through the tips as they tremble in your grasp. You’d forgotten how warm he is; it’s like holding tendrils of fire. You’re not sure just how much – or how little – contact he’s had, so you take it slow, placing your other hand over his knuckles before you run your touch across his wrist, up to his forearm. He shivers, inhaling a short, sharp breath when you press your palm against the side of his elbow.

“Okay?” You ask him.

He nods, eyes fixed on your wandering hand like it’s some exotic creature. You shuffle closer, putting your bodies within range of each other’s touches, and bring his hand slowly to your chest, pushing it against the fabric of your shirt. He lets you lead him without resistance, splaying his fingers across the place where your pusher beat is strongest. It’s not bare skin contact, but even just feeling evidence of someone else being alive seems like a novel experience for him, a slight smile quirking one corner of his mouth as he relaxes. You let your own lips curl slightly, lifting your hand from his arm and placing it on his shoulder, feeling the silk of his clothes and the tensing of his muscles. You replicate the way Dave presses and stretches at the knots, gently massaging Karkat’s skin through his clothes until you can pinch it lightly between your fingers.

His other hand joins the one kneading at your shirt, his fists clenching and unclenching alternately in rhythm with his breathing. You venture a ghosting touch of his neck and he starts, but moments later he’s leaning into it, dipping his head to fit his jaw into your palm, eyes cast downwards and almost closed. You feel vibrations under your fingers, and then an audible purr breaks through, crackling and rough but still music to your ears. You offer a soft trill in reply, the sound melting into your own purr as you run your thumb across his cheek, with just enough pressure for the plump skin to give a little. You bring your other hand up to match on the opposite side, cupping his perfect face as its features slack, his eyes now fully closed.

“Can I kiss you?” You whisper to him.

His purr hitches and his eyes snap open, fight-or-flight sparking behind them as he looks up at you, his hands frozen against your chest.

“On the mouth?” He asks quietly.

You nod, then after a few endless seconds, he does the same and lets his eyes drift shut. Your pusher surges into your throat, the rhythm erratic and wild like your thoughts. You’ve never done this, not _ever_ , not even with Dave. Not even when you were drunk off your horns and Dualscar said “Gimme a kiss princess” and you had half a mind to do it, just to show him you could. But you didn’t, because you may not have been able to walk in a straight line, but you had to keep your dignity somehow.

“Having second thoughts?”

You jolt at Karkat’s voice, flushing violet when you find him staring at you like he’s expecting you to reject him.

“N-no I just, I don’t really…. I havven’t...” You sigh, words failing you yet again.

“Want me to kiss you instead?” He asks, and you almost laugh because it sounds so innocent and casual coming from him.

“Okay, sure.”

You’re not sure if this will effect the whole ‘claiming’ thing, but when he slides his hands up to mirror the placement of yours, his skin soft and warm even when his fingers dip under your scarf, you lose the ability to give a fuck about anything other than the Troll right in front of you, and how delicate he is with you even though you’re at least three hands taller than him. He moves onto his knees rather than pulling your face down, and you can see that he’s trying to mimic the movies as he leans in, then stops to tilt his head, then closes the rest of the distance. It’s one of the most endearing things you’ve ever seen, but you don’t get long to appreciate it before your thoughts are consumed by heat and sparks and Karkat’s lips on your own.

He sighs out an extra-loud purr, letting his arms rest against your chest as you drop your hands to his waist. He whines and presses harder against your mouth, like he’s trying to make up for all the lost time of not having skin-to-skin contact with another Troll. You want to pull him close and smother him, but you’ve already gotten further than you thought you would, so you make do with giving the softness of his middle a slight squeeze, drawing another muffled sound from him that reverberates onto your lips. He pulls back and touches your foreheads together, breathing in quick little pants through his nose. You allow him a few moments to catch his breath, then go in for another kiss just in case the claim didn’t take. It’s less precise than his, and you notice now that you’re both shaking – Karkat more so, overwhelmed by the new sensations of being held and touched as well as his first kiss – but it’s no less satisfying, feeling him practically melt into your lap and you know, this time you know, he’s yours.

You break the kiss and chirr at him, bumping your noses together as he chirrs back, higher and submissive. You almost ask him who he belongs to, just to hear him say it out loud, but you stop yourself. He doesn’t need to say it, he’s showing you in the way he rubs his face against your chin, tugging at your scarf so he can leave his scent against your neck. You pull him up by his shoulders to be level with you, peck another kiss to his lips for good measure, then do your damnedest to make him smell like the sea-dweller he should be with such bright, beautiful blood. Even if his natural smell is wonderful and reminds you of winter spices, and you’d rather both of you were covered in just that instead, but that can wait until next time. He tilts his head for you, exposing his neck and making pleased little noises with every nuzzle.

He’s practically curled up on top of you by the end of it, you having somehow slipped down into the pillows at the head of his platform, and now stuck there with a docile land-dweller acting as your personal heater. You guess a nap couldn’t hurt. You snuggle down some more and close your eyes, Karkat’s warmth and the sleepy haze of pheromones dragging you under almost as quickly as sopor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyy it's that smooch chapter I was talking about before! I couldn't resist a double update, sozl guys <3


	5. Chapter 5

You wake up with something cold around your waist, and at first you panic because you’re not in your recuperacoon and you’ve had dayterrors that started this way; when you’re tied down to your platform, drowsy and defenceless, locked in with some Highblood bastard who has a whip or a chain and wants more than just to own you and –

“Mmh?”

Warm air contrasts the cold against your neck, making your hair stand on end in a tingling ripple over your scalp. You can feel your pusherbeat in every inch of your skin, blood rushing frantically as if it wants to run as much as you do. The body pressed to your back shifts a little and you tense even more, trying to gradually curl yourself into a ball, eyes squeezed shut and holding your breath.

“Shh, ’s alright Kar, just a dayterror.” He mumbles, slowly stroking his thumb across your collarbone.

Just a dayterror. That’s all they are. Just bad dreams. Your ‘owner’ isn’t like that. Eridan isn’t like that. He said he’d protect you. You place your trembling hand over his, letting out a sigh as your fingers interlace. He just stays there with you in silence, breathing gently into your hair and resting his palm over your blood-pusher. You wish you could feel calm, feel safe, and it’s not that you don’t trust Eridan, but you’ve only ever felt contact like this before in your dayterrors and it’s as if you’re waiting for something to ruin it, or for you to wake up again and be alone.

Then Eridan retracts his arm from under yours and sits up, “Kar wwhat’s wwrong?”

You glance up at him, then back down again when you see the way he’s frowning at you. He claimed you earlier; you should be begging for his attention, hanging off of his every word and whim like he’s your reason for living. But the only thing you feel is… Nothing. Or maybe wrong, wrong _because_ you feel nothing, and that’s why you’re still shaking.

“Kar?”

He reaches out and you flinch, sitting up and tucking your legs close to your chest. He looks so hurt. You feel awful. He probably hates you now, he’ll leave and tell that ancestor of his to do what he wants with you. You’ll be culled. The only reason you were kept alive is because somebody somewhere decided that you could be forced into a mating bond because of your blood. But you didn’t, probably can’t, probably never will. You’ll be thrown aside because you’re worthless, or taken by some filth with a handful of credits because you’re still ‘pure’. Culling you would be an act of mercy.

You look back at Eridan, stare right into his eyes and will yourself to feel that attachment but it just _doesn’t happen_. You feel something else though; a flame of pity burning low in your chest, and you grasp it like a lifeline. There’s _something_ there, and he’s told you he likes you, maybe even pities you. You crawl forwards and press yourself against his chest, ignoring every shiver and flip of your stomach, and you most definitely do not cry when he hugs you back. He strokes your hair and shushes you like a palemate should, like you wish Sollux was able to do. He tells you it’s alright and you want believe him so badly, but he must know that the claim didn’t take by now. Even if he doesn’t care, his ancestor will.

“Should I call for your Moirail?” He asks, and you almost stop breathing because nobody’s ever asked that before.

You nod, reluctant because it means he has to get up, but desperate to see Captor’s stupid face and feel his psionics around you, moving with the beat of his pulse. You curl in on yourself as Eridan leaves you and goes to the door, and when he comes back you stay there, not looking at him so you don’t have to deal with the guilt. You’re not sure how to make this better, but when Sollux’s handler shoves him into the room, you get the tiniest flicker of hope that might be able to figure it out.

He takes a step, then pauses when he notices Eridan. A single spark jumps between his horns, but he bows like he’s expected to in the presence of a Highblood. Eridan seems less than impressed, as if he wants to kick Sollux out even though he was the one who invited him in. You reach out and brush your fingers over his forearm to distract him, stop him looking at your Moirail with that predatory glare. You know Sollux will hate the way this makes Eridan decide to flaunt the fact that he can touch you, stroking your face slowly and deliberately. But at least they aren’t shooting daggers at each other anymore.

“I’ll be back tomor– later sometime.” Eridan tells you, biting his lip as he casts his eyes over your face, before looking over his shoulder, “You can touch him by the wway, just ensure that your interactions remain platonic and conciliatory, and remember wwho he belongs to.”

Then with that he leaves, not a single glance back. Did he say… Sollux can _touch_ you?

“KK.” Your Moirail kneels down on the platform, and you can already feel the familiar, calming energy spreading up your back in tendrils of warmth.

You choke out his name and throw your arms around him, holding him as close as you possibly can and giving in to the tears pricking your eyes. Feeling the actual pressure of his hands on your shoulders, his lukewarm skin against your face, the way his lisp hisses right in your ear as he shushes you. It’s better than you ever imagined it would be. He sends little sparks to your horns as a purr buzzes in his chest, and you’d purr back for him if you could but your throat is thick with tears and it just doesn’t work. Nothing about you works. You’re a freak, you’re awful.

“Shh KK, you’re not awful.” He whispers, carding his spindly fingers and filed-down nails through your hair. You didn’t even notice they’d done that to him.

You also didn’t realise that you’d said that last part out loud, and it makes you sob harder because you know he being completely truthful, that he’s actually pale for a mutant like you but your blood colour wouldn’t make a difference anyway.

“I’m sorry.” You say. To yourself, for thinking all of those hateful things. To Sollux, because this is supposed to be happy and here you are bawling into his shirt like a wiggler. To Eridan, even though he isn’t here, for not being what he thought you were.

Sollux kisses your head, wiping your tears with his sleeve, “Don’t be.”

You nod and stop crying. You sit back and you force a smile, feeling dumb for ever crying in the first place. Sollux smiles back, and he doesn’t judge you or say anything about your emotional outburst. He plugs in the game grub that he gave you for your wriggling day, and you growl as he beats you over half the time, but that just means you get to poke him until he laughs, and you laugh because this feels normal and all so new at the same time.

Sollux leaves before sunrise, and you go to sleep with his touch still lingering on your skin, keeping the dayterrors at bay. Eridan is there too, in your dreams, trailing cold fingers through your hair and talking about nothing with his stupidly endearing wavy accent. Claim or no, he’s stolen a piece of your heart, and you can already feel the rest of it getting dragged along for the ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little Karkat POV chapter for you all. Why do I like torturing these precious babies?


	6. Chapter 6

You were expecting Highbloods to charge in one evening and take you away. Every evening in fact. But when exactly twelve evenings pass without this becoming an occurrence, you start to get suspicious. Eridan couldn’t claim you, but he let Sollux touch you anyway. You didn’t live up to expectations, and yet you still find yourself on the right side of death. His Imperial Domination is a cruel, vicious creature who takes what he wants, and he wants what you can’t give, but he’s still letting you bask in the luxury that his money is now paying for. Or his Prince’s money anyway. Maybe that’s it, maybe Eridan is doing this? But why? Sure the two of you get along most of the time, but he wouldn’t lie to the Emperor for you.

There’s a sharp tap on your door and the sound of locks clicking open. You pull yourself up to a cross-legged position on the platform, waiting for whoever they’ve decided is worthy of shoving your breakfast at you tonight. It turns out that Eridan was serious when he mentioned getting rid of your handler, because you’ve not seen hide nor hair of that brute since Eridan’s last visit.

“Good evening master Vantas.”

It’s a jade this time, which intrigues you, seeing as they usually send muscular blues like you’re some sort of ferocious animal. She’s tall, beautiful, and wearing clothes almost as intricate as some of yours. Her skin is practically white, and you swear that it’s actually glowing in the dim of your block. The yellow of her eyes have a slight luminance to them as well, which would be creepy as fuck on anyone else, but she’s got this softness in her gaze that makes you inclined to not flip out. Not yet anyway. Her long, black dress trails behind her as she walks over to a nearby table, placing your breakfast there and then standing back. Normally your sustenance delivery Troll would leave now, but you’re too hungry question why she’s going against this routine. Your stomach growls and twists on itself, and you practically jump to the chair to begin demolishing the platter laid out before you.

“You have a healthy appetite.” She remarks.

She’s talking to you. Well that’s new. You stop dead with a piece of bacon hanging out of your mouth, looking up at her as she watches you with a smile, two pointed fangs curling over her bottom lip.

“I did not mean it in a negative way, please, continue.” She gestures to the plate.

You slowly resume eating, keeping your eyes on her for the first few mouthfuls, until you’re sure that all she’s going to do is stand there and observe you with this weird, pleased look on her face, like she’s happy that you’re enjoying the food. She takes your plate and captchalogues it when you’re done, replacing the cutlery in your hands with a warm cup of scalding leaf fluid.

“Who are you?” You ask her when you’re almost done with your drink and she still doesn’t leave.

“My title is The Dolorosa,” She replies, her voice serene even under your scrutiny, “But you may call me Rosa if you so please.”

You nod, “You can call me Karkat.”

Her smile widens, showing more of those needle-like fangs, “Of course, Karkat, please let me know when you are ready to be dressed.” She pulls out the chair for you and takes the empty cup.

“Now is fine.” You’ve already had a shower and all that shit so why not right? “So am I getting a visitor tonight?” You’re only ever ‘dressed’ when someone important is coming to see you.

She looks positively thrilled, decaptchaloguing a large box onto your platform, “Yes, the Prince has scheduled some time with you this afternoon, I believe the two of you are well acquainted already?”

Your blood pusher does a flip but you try not to show it, “Yeah, we met last sweep.”

You were going to say something snarky about only tolerating Eridan when he’s not being a whiny brat, but you’re guessing everyone thinks the claim worked on you, so it’s probably a good idea to act at least half as besotted with your Prince as they expect you to be.

“How lovely.” She opens the box and pulls out folds of black silk.

The fabric is peppered with gold stitching and jewels, violets and reds glinting as they move. It’s not unlike what you usually wear, but the colours a lot subtler, spread out in patterns rather than crammed into layers upon layers of embroidery. A see-through sort of material follows, piled up on the silk along with something that looks more like regular clothing fabric, and has red piping.

“I was given your measurements to work with, so I am confident that everything will fit, but please do not hesitate to tell me if any areas require adjustment.”

“You made these?” You ask, starting to remove your clothes as she brings the first garment over.

“Yes, usually I am restricted to my work as the Imperial tailor, however it was the Prince himself who requested that I make something for you, so had I even wanted to refuse, it would have not been wise to do so.”

Ah, so Eridan did have something to do with this. In that case, you guess you’re safe for now?

“Oh, you have gills.” Rosa remarks, lowering the fabric she was about to cover your torso with.

“Oh, uh, yeah.” You say, looking down at the slits in your side. You’d almost forgotten that they were yet another one of your strange mutations. You wonder how Eridan is going to react when he finds out – that is if your papers haven’t informed him already.

She smiles, “How interesting, I have always thought that the way gills function alongside lungs in Trolls is fascinating.”

You like the way she talks, speaking as if everything is to a tune and the words have been planned out with the care of writing a poem. It makes you feel calmer, almost forgetting that you’re standing in front of her wearing nothing more than a scrap of fabric that somehow counts as underwear. Honestly, you know you’re supposed to be some ‘tantalising gift’, but you didn’t expect to have to dress like this _all the time_. You almost tore your handler’s head off when he presented you with your new wardrobe last sweep. Only almost though; the training dummy ended up being a far safer choice for decapitation, even if it did little to help your anger.

You hold out your arms and let her ease the sleeves over, wrapping the rest of the shirt around your front before tying it at the back. It’s nice and loose, sliding across your skin softly as you move, and long enough to hover over your thighs at the front, tapering around to a curved point at the back where it hangs between your knees.

“I tried to make my designs reminiscent of those worn by our friends in the East,” She says, smoothing out the fabric with gentle tugs and touches, “they have a wonderful relationship with their clothing, one that I hope we can learn from.”

She’s more touchy-feely than anyone else who’s dressed you before, laying her hands on your waist and shoulders to make sure that the clothes fit right. You’re still not sure about all this physical contact business from someone you barely know, but she always makes sure to look to you for reassurance, asking your opinion on things, and taking your nervous shrugs or nods as answers without pressing for more.

She steadies you with a hand as you step into the bottom half of your outfit; a pair of leggings made from the material with the red stripes, which go down the outer seams on both legs. Thankfully there’s a fastening on one side of the waistband, so when she pulls them up over your hips, there’s barely any of the jumping and wriggling that you’ve experienced previously from having to squeeze yourself into something so tight. Lastly comes the source of most of your ensemble’s colour, a length of red, sheer fabric that she secures around your middle, tying it off in a bow behind you so that the ends fall down along with the back of your shirt.

“You look wonderful.”

You squint at yourself in the mirror and tilt your head, unsure if you agree with her or not. The belt pulls in your waist, giving you more of a defined figure than most of your other clothes, which you assume other Trolls will find attractive. You guess they’ve stopped trying to cover your shape now that you’ve got a master. Your skin is mostly concealed though, only your hands, feet and neck on show. Although with the amount of jewellery Rosa begins lining up on your dresser, you doubt things are going to stay that way. She lifts up a particularly bulky necklace and you wrinkle your nose.

“Not a fan of jewellery?”

“No, not really.” You continue glaring at the golden loops until they’re settled across your chest.

She chuckles, “He wasn’t either, you remind me so much of him.”

“Who?” You ask as she begins decorating your wrists with bracelets.

“Your Ancestor, you may know him as The Signless, or The Sufferer,” She holds your arm out to examine her work, then moves on to the other, “He had gills too, although he was never much of a swimmer.” She laughs a little and you do too – you’ve never been in water deep enough to try – then she sighs, “I cared for him when he was young, acting in place of his Lusus, and when looking at you I can’t help but feel as if I’m seeing him again.”

She gives you a sad attempt at a smile, then after you meet her eyes, it softens into a look of warm affection. You’ve never been told much about your Ancestor. All you know is that he tried to rebel against the old Empress and got himself killed, back when red-blooded mutants were given a cull-on-spot type of deal, rather than being Highblood pets. And by mutant _s_ you mean just you, because if there are others they’ve either died or not been stupid enough to have gotten caught. You don’t really remember if you ever had a life before this; everyone tells you that they found you with your Lusus before you’d even pupated for the first time, which explains how they knew about your blood – a bright red grub is pretty difficult to miss.

Then you notice that you’ve been staring into space and Rosa has stopped decorating you like some sort of ornate holiday icon. She seems pensive, tapping her nails on yet another necklace draped across the palm of her hand.

“How about we try a different approach,” She says, reaching around your neck to remove the golden monstrosity hanging there, “would you be alright with that?”

You nod, relieved when she begins swapping all of your thick jewellery for the smaller chains and subtle pendants. You end up wearing only one necklace, with a red gem resting on your sternum, and your wrists have simple chainmail-type cuffs, which attach to the rings on your middle fingers. She clips an anklet around your left leg, and sets a pair of violet studs into your ears.

“There,” She says, standing behind you and smiling at your reflection, “much better, don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” You’ve got a feeling that Eridan doesn’t like anyone wearing more jewels than him, so this will probably make him happy. You hope.

You flinch when someone knocks on the door.

“Please give me a moment,” Rosa says, quickly gathering up her things before opening the door, “ah my Prince, how wonderful to see you,” she curtseys and bows her head, “we were just finishing, please excuse me.”

She gives you one last smile, which is oddly reassuring, then leaves with a sweep of her dress. You quickly pull the drape back over the mirror, standing up straight just as Eridan steps inside. You’re not sure what he’s expecting – should you run up to him? Bow? Sit down? Fucking roll over? – so you just stand and wait, probably looking like you’re about to be executed if the tension in your body is anything to go by. He’s wearing something out of the ordinary too, and it looks suspiciously similar to yours, although made of thicker, sturdier material, with a jacket instead of a silk shirt and regular pants in place of leggings. The sash around his waist is the same though, albeit tied to the side in a knot rather than a bow at the back. Then you spot the red glinting on his fins and your pusher does a little jump, dragging your bile sac with it. You’re used to wearing other Troll’s colours, a bit of Tyrian here or some violet there, it’s all just a colour to you. But seeing your bright red on someone else… It’s so unnatural in the most exciting way possible.

“Wwoww Kar,” He says, his voice wavering even more than usual, “you look stunnin’.”

“Thanks,” You try to swallow back the warmth gathering in your cheeks at the compliment – it doesn’t work, “you don’t scrub up too bad yourself Ampora.”

He laughs and strides over to you, another veil of purple billowing out behind him where it hangs off of one shoulder. It looks like he’s going to hug you for a moment, but he stops short and takes a step back. You’re strangely grateful for that, and it makes you relax. He’s not going to hurt you, and he likes you enough to respect your boundaries. Or what were your boundaries anyway. You close the distance for him and hold your hand by his. He looks down at it, then at your face, then at the floor as he threads his fingers between yours. Your skin prickles at the cold, but you don’t jump this time. This feels nice, right, like you could hold his hand all night and never let go. You give him a squeeze and he looks up, cheeks and fins tinted lilac.

“Um,” He begins, glancing back at the door before he continues in a low voice, “I knoww that the thing wwe did last time didn’t wwork.”

Your organs drop into your non-existent shoes and if he wasn’t holding onto you so tightly, you’d probably have backed away by now.

“But it’s alright,” He whispers quickly, “I don’t mind, I alwways thought claimin’ wwas wweird anywway.”

“You’re not mad?” You ask after your squawk blister climbs back into position.

He shakes his head, “A course not, it ain’t your fault. You might havve to pretend around my Ancestor an’ that though, I don’t think he’d be as understandin’ about the wwhole thing.”

“Yeah.” Is all you can say, your thoughts too absorbed with processing the fact that Eridan doesn’t hate you for being the broken freak that you are.

Then you feel this… Almost like an itch, or a tingle, in the arch of your foot, like someone’s prodding you to take a step. So you do, pulling your hand out of Eridan’s grasp to place them both on his chest. You can’t feel the coolness of his skin through it, but as you rest your head on the surprisingly soft fabric, his pusher gives a few rough thumps in your ear. You love moments like this, knowing he’s alive and he’s with you. It’s as if this is the only time you feel anything remotely close to a mating bond, when you can actually feel him there. He puts his arms gently around your shoulders, holding you closer and resting his cheek against your head.

You know this isn’t how it’s supposed to go, when you’re claimed, but Eridan seems content with a hug, so you stop worrying about what isn’t happening and focus on what is. You focus on the beat of his pulse, the way he absently thumbs over the tiny beads sewn into your shirt, how the more you’re with him, the more you pick up on his scent under that perfume he wears. He smells like that fizzy water you drink sometimes, mixed with those little mineral flakes you have on the table just to smell them rather than eat them. You move your head up so you can see his fins. You’ve never looked at them close up like this before, and they’re more intricate than you imagined, with tiny veins across the smooth skin between the spines, colour radiating out from them as he blushes where he thinks you can’t see. It’s kind of… Cute. Yeah, Eridan’s pretty cute, and his eyes are so beautiful, his hair too, so atypical of every other Troll you’ve met.

“You can touch ‘em if you like,” He mumbles, pulling back a little so you can see just how purple his face is, “my fins I mean.”

“Are you sure?”

He nods, biting his lip, and then smiling when he catches your gaze, “Just be gentle.”

“Okay.”

Nerves spark all over your body, but you push them back with a deep breath. You’ve had your fingers close to his fins before, but you dipped out of actually touching them – you mean, they’re probably sensitive right? He wouldn’t want just anyone grabbing them. At least your claws are clipped so you can’t do any real damage on accident. You start with a tap between the bottom two spines, pulling your hand back when the whole thing flutters and Eridan makes this startled little noise.

“It’s alright,” He says, taking your hand and moving it close again, “I just wwasn’t expecting it is all, I keep forgettin’ howw wwarm you are.”

You take it even slower when you try again, running the very tip of your finger along the webbing as it flexes under your touch. Eridan is purposefully not looking at you, so it’s a little difficult to tell how he’s feeling about this, but he’s not telling you to stop you you’re assuming it’s at least a tolerable sensation. Then you stroke along it again and a tiny trill jumps from his throat. He puts a hand over his mouth, flushing even deeper, and you try not to laugh or smile too wide. He still doesn’t tell you to stop though. You try something different, catching the skin lightly between your fingers and thumb. He gives you a chirp this time, looking even more embarrassed until you shock yourself by chirping back.

He grins when you cover your own mouth, not quite certain of the sound that just came out of it.

“Your vvoice is so pretty Kar.” He says.

Then he trills again and your squawk blister takes it upon itself to trill back and Gods that was so fucking _embarrassing_. You think you remember making noises like this to him last time, but then you’d just thought it was part of the claim, now it’s definitely your own body deciding it wants to call back to him. You’re not sure how you feel about that.

“If you make me do that again, I’ll grab you by your fucking gills.” You tell him, only a hint of a growl making its way into your voice.

His eyes narrow, smile now more of a smirk, “You don’t havve to make excuses Kar, if you wwant to touch my gills all you gotta do is ask.”

Touch his gills? You’ve got to admit; you’re intrigued by that. You’ve only ever seen your own gills in person, but judging by the movies you’ve watched, they’re nothing spectacular by sea-dweller standards. You’ve also only got three sets instead of four, because of course there can’t be _anything_ normal about you.

A quick look couldn’t hurt, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, it's been a while but here's a nice long update!
> 
> I've been trying to decide where to go with this - hence the break - and I think I've gotten it mostly figured out now, at least their relationship anyway. I also think that might include this AU's Karkat being asexual. But he'll still be focussed on the romantic interactions like cuddling and such. I just don't want to give the impression that he's asexual because of how he was treated; it really has nothing to do with that. So, what would you all think? Should it be a thing I bring up or just have it in the background?


	7. Chapter 7

“This part is called the opercula,” You say, pointing at the flap of your gills, “and under that there’s the filaments, those are wwhat filter oxygen out a the wwater.” You hold your breath so that the flaps open, fanning out the purple structures underneath.

Karkat nods, leaning a little closer.

“I don’t advvise touchin’ those though,” Your gills close as you take a breath in, “they’re kinda delicate.”

“Yeah,” Karkat says, his eyes still roaming over the exposed skin of your torso, then he coughs and sits back, “um I can imagine, y’know, breathing apparatus and all that shit, tends to be fragile.” He clears his throat again as his cheeks bloom pink.

“So,” You begin, trying not to let him know that you’re about to burst with pity because he’s getting all nervous and it’s the most _adorable_ thing you’ve ever seen, “insides are off limits, but you can touch ‘em wwhen they’re closed like this,” You shuffle a little closer to him, readjusting your grip on your shirt so that you can hold it up with one hand, “go on, ain’t gonna kill me.”

He blinks at you, then nods and lifts his hand. You brace yourself for his clumsy touches that will probably be too hard or in the wrong place, but you’re not going to show it if they are because you’re a Prince, and Princes aren’t pansies who cry when someone pokes their gills. When he actually touches you though, when the warmth of his fingertips moves across the very edge of the upper flap, so light and just the right speed to send little sparks into your stomach. _God_ , okay, this is not how you imagined it would be. You’d been so busy preparing for discomfort, that you have to bite your lip to hold in a very inappropriate noise of pleasure. You’ve touched your own gills like this before, and you know it feels so good when you do it right, but the thing is that it takes quite a bit of experimenting _to_ do it right. So either Karkat’s had experience with someone’s gills before, or he has an amazingly innate ability to please with his hands. Oh fuck that sounded wrong. But also right. But also so wrong. You can’t decide, so you lock that thought away for a later.

Then Karkat stops and you’re _this_ close to pouting at him, until he asks “Is this okay?”

You nod, perhaps a little too enthusiastically but you just want him to carry on, “Yeah, not hurtin’ or anythin’.”

He stays quiet and goes back to bending your nerves to his will, drawing swirly patterns over your skin as he moves on to the next gill flap. You hazard a glance at his face, immediately wishing you hadn’t when his expression lights a fire in the pit of your belly. He looks so thoughtful, absorbed, like he’s studying every miniscule twitch of your muscles or freckle on your skin. This is when you realise that you don’t just pity him, and start thinking that maybe you should wrap this up before you say or do something terminally mortifying. God he just ran his claws right across the edge of the flap, _oh_ that felt good, how the fuck does he know how to do that?

“Hey, don’t fall asleep on me,” Karkat says, making you suddenly aware that you’d closed your eyes, “and don’t piss yourself either, the ablutionblock is right there.” He adds, now bringing your attention to the fact that you’ve squeezed your legs together.

You fix both of those things and straighten out your shirt, wavering somewhere between relieved and intensely disappointed that Karkat has stopped touching you. He shuffles back on the platform, leaning against the pillows with his chin resting on his knees.

“Go on then,” He says, nodding at a nearby door, “I’m not going to run away.”

You’d thought he was joking about the whole ablutionblock thing – maybe trying to ignore what was _actually_ happening there – but when you get up and open the door out of pure curiosity, you see an immaculate white bathroom, complete with a bath that could qualify as a small swimming pool and is possibly even better than yours. Actually yes, it _is_ better than yours, why does a land-dweller have a bigger bath than you?

You look back at him and arch an eyebrow.

“I know you’re a spoiled brat,” He says, “but if you need someone to walk you to the gaper then you can keep fucking searching.”

You let out a high pitched ‘ _Ick_ ’, “No Kar, _God_ , I wwas just gonna ask if you like swwimmin’?”

You see his body go stiff, eyes widening a little, “Why?”

“’Cause you’vve got this huge fuck off bath in here an’ I think it might evven be deeper than mine, wwhich is a fuckin’ travvesty might I add.”

“Oh,” His eyes flicker around before settling back on yours, “well, it’s always been like that, guess they thought that if I was so important I’d be a sea-dweller or something.” He shrugs, but it’s rigid, like someone just picked up his shoulders and then dropped them. “I don’t even use it.”

You look back to the bathroom and spy a much smaller tub in the corner, the shelf above littered with bottles. It’s not your place to judge you guess, even if it does seem utterly ludicrous that he can leave such a magnificent pool-bath unused. You close the door and sit back down on the platform, picking up your jacket and sash and dressing yourself the best you can. Seriously, where’s a Maryam when you need one? These buttons are fiddly as hell.

Karkat folds his arms, “Were you just using your bladder as an excuse to snoop?”

“I don’t knoww wwhat you’re talkin’ about.” You say, shuffling closer to him and leaning against the back pillows.

“You didn’t even fucking go!”

You shrug, “I didn’t need to, you just assumed that an’ made me an offer to take a peek at your bathroom.”

He rolls his eyes, muttering something about nosy Highbloods under his breath. Then he looks down at his lap and seems to remember something.

“Oh yeah, why am I dressed up like this? And why do we match? Normally I just wear whatever I want when you visit.”

Ah you’ve been waiting for him to ask about this. You take a moment to quell the excitement, but you’re pretty sure your voice betrays you from the first word.

“Okay, so I’m not thinkin’ tonight, or evven any time soon probably, but next time Dualscar has some big soiree or wwhatevver, I wwas thinkin’ that maybe you’d be okay wwith taggin’ along? Wwith me?” The last word is a squeak, adding to the heat you can already feel spreading into your face.

Karkat stares at you for a moment, then says “Oh.” Just that single syllable. If ‘oh’ can even be called a word, it’s more of a noise if you’re being honest.

“’ _Oh_ ’?” You tease, poking his shoulder, “You spend half our time together givvin me speeches about your shitty movvies and _that’s_ the best you’vve got?”

He turns away with a huff, “Fuck off, I’m thinking alright?”

The retort ‘ _don’t hurt yourself_ ’ pops into your head, but you make sure that’s as far as it goes, since Karkat does actually seem to be seriously contemplating your offer. Plus, you don’t really want to piss him off, especially now that he knows all about your sensitive gills.

“You don’t havve to say yes just for me.” You tell him after a few minutes pass without an answer.

He looks back at you in silence, eyes dropping to the duvet scrunched up between you as he sighs.

“I’ve never been outside,” He says quietly, “or if I have then I don’t remember it. It’s more of an idea to me, like when you see a movie about somewhere half way across the world, and you can imagine yourself there but you don’t feel anything, there aren’t any memories.”

You can feel the ache of pity flare up again, as new as if it doesn’t happen pretty much every time you even think about the little mutant. _Your_ little mutant. You told yourself you wouldn’t try to own him, wouldn’t try to force him into liking you. The claim didn’t take and that’s that; he’s still your friend. But you felt him go under when you kissed him, even just for a second, and there’s this horrible, selfish part of you that wants to watch it happen again, feel him devote every breath to you, cling to you as if you’re his whole world. Gods know you’d be able to reciprocate – besides Dave, your life is so shit that Karkat is the only thing keeping you sane right now. You’re unbelievably glad that Dualscar believed you when you said the claim had worked, hopefully he’s not just being a conniving bastard and waiting for you to fuck up before he says he actually knew you were lying all along.

“Hey I know I’m weird, but we’ve known each other for like a sweep so you could at least _try_ not to fucking stare.”

“Huh?” You blink and refocus on Karkat’s adorably round, pouting face, “Oh, sorry, I wwas just thinkin’ about somethin’.”

He rolls his eyes, “Ask me a question and then go get lost in your own pan as I pour out my heartfelt answer, nice going Roameo, I feel so appreciated.”

“ _Roameo_?” You scoff, “Wwhen did I say I wwas tryin’ to mimic any sort a fictional lovvelorn quadrant chaser?”

You get a strange lurch of giddiness about saying the word ‘love’, and promptly bite your lip to put a stop to it. Now’s not the time to be acting like a fucking guppy.

Then Karkat smiles, eyes narrowed and predatory, and you think maybe you _are_ a guppy, “You didn’t have to say anything.” He crawls around to kneel in front of you, his face dropping back into its solemn blankness as he leans closer, putting his hands against the wall between your arms and your sides, “Go on, I know you want to.”

“Ww-wwant to w-wwhat?” _Fuckin’ land-dwellers an’ their fuckin’ w’s_. Yes, because mentally insulting another race’s language is the best way to avoid thinking about your feelings, and the way your face could probably fry an egg.

“Touch me, kiss me, whatever you want.” He replies flatly, looking right into your eyes.

You’re almost jealous of the way his cheeks are barely pink. Actually, as you look him up and down, he doesn’t seem into this at all, not like the way your hindpan is telling you to ignore your doubts and do what Karkat’s saying. He’s trembling sure, but he’s tense with it, and even though the leggings he’s wearing hide nothing, there’s not anything _to_ hide in the first place. He’s trying to be alluring, or whatever he thinks you want, but you’re not one of those Trolls who can take just words for an answer when the rest of him is so clearly saying no.

“Eridan, please,” he whispers, his eyes shimmering crimson, “please just-” his voice is cut off by a sharp inhale.

You want to hug him or something, stroke his face and tell him it’s okay, but you’ve seen him flip from affectionate to freaking out with no indication as to why, and if he’s deliberately forcing himself, it might make the switch ten times worse.

“Kar,” You move a few pillows to press your back against the wall, “wwhat’s this about?”

He sits back, running a hand roughly through his hair, “I don’t-” he sniffs, “I can’t-” a hiccup this time, then a few tears roll down his cheeks. He wipes them away, not trying to speak again and just holding his hands out to you.

You’re not sure what he was going to say, but you’re guessing it has something to do with him wanting to try the claim again, no matter how much he obviously doesn’t enjoy the thought of what it entails. He may have been telling you outright earlier, but the way he’s looking at you now, pleading with his eyes instead of his voice, you trust that more than anything he’s asked for. You put your arms around him without guilt, holding him tight to your chest as he hugs you around the waist. You know he likes this, and you’re relieved to feel him relaxing against you more with each breath.

“You don’t havve to make yourself do anything,” You tell him quietly, “I wwon’t hate you just ‘cause you’re not fallin’ all ovver the place for me, alright?”

He nods. You should ask if he wants his Moirail. No, you should just bypass his stupidity completely and call for that piss-blood yourself. But you don’t. You’re selfish and spoilt and all those things anyone’s ever said, so you keep quiet and enjoy the warmth of Karkat’s body against your own. You nuzzle his hair, venture a little chirp, and he gives a muffled grunt in reply. Not perfect, but good enough.

“Hey,” He says, when your cuddle is starting to border on uncomfortable as your leg tingles with numbness, “did my papers say anything weird? Like, weirder than my blood?”

You think back to when Dualscar showed them to you. Candy red blood, stunted horns, bad attitude. Nothing really jumps out as odd besides the whole off-spectrum business.

“Not really,” You say, drawing slow circles on his shoulder, “wwhy? You havven’t got some sort a psionics I wwasn’t told about havve you?”

He shakes his head, fidgeting as a hint for you to let him hit up, “No, actually I uh,” he clears his throat, “I already knew all of that stuff you were saying about gills earlier.”

Oh. Well don’t you feel like a moron now? You guess it explains the way he touched yours though, even if you shouldn’t be thinking about how _amazing_ that felt whilst Karkat’s obviously trying to be serious. But what does that have to do with his papers?

“A-and I knew all of it because I’ve, I’ve got gills. On me. Like, working ones.” He bites his lip, folding his arms across his stomach as if on instinct. You know that feeling.

Honestly, you thought you’d be more surprised. It’s still a shock, obviously, but everything you’ve seen tonight just bolstered the sneaking suspicion you’d had after his reaction to you touching his waist. Seriously, no land-dweller whines _that_ loudly from a little squeeze, regardless of how touch-starved they are. Although, you had expected it to just be vestigial muscles, not for him to have full-blown working water filtrators attached to his breathing apparatus.

“Can I see them?” You mentally slap yourself before you’ve even finished asking. _Why_? Why was that the first thing you said?

He flushes red as his gaze jumps to your face, “Um, sure, okay.”

“Only if you wwant to.” You add, like that’ll make things better.

“Yeah, yeah sure.” He swallows nervously and begins fumbling with the bow around his waist.

You’d help him, but you don’t completely trust yourself, so you just try not to watch too intently as he wriggles his way out of his clothes. Which includes his leggings apparently, undone and pulled down to his knees. Okay, that’s fine. You can deal with that. You are definitely not going to make a mess of your pants just because he’s practically stripped down to his. Fuck is he _gorgeous_ though, all smooth lines and velvet skin. If you met him out in the real world, you’d take any punishment Dualscar gave you for fraternising with a Lowblood. But he’s not a Lowblood. It seemed silly at first for you to think like that, but it’s true – you can’t be at the bottom of the spectrum if you’re not even on it.

His gills are clamped shut as he pushes the fabric down over them. Most land-dwellers would probably mistake the slits for scars or just a trick of the light. You know what you’re looking at though; the beautifully rounded opercula that stop just under where a rib would be visible, the shapes of his extra muscles masked by a layer of softness, keeping his appearance firmly that of a land-dweller in spite of the filaments hidden underneath. You bet they’re bright red like his blood, God that must look spectacular, especially in the water.

You clear your throat to break the silence, “So, wwere you lyin’ wwhen you said you didn’t use the pool?”

Wow, just. Wow. Your conversational topics are really on point today. _Not_. Accusing him of lying after he shows you his fucking mutated gills? Way to go Eri, nice job.

“No,” He seems equal parts surprised and annoyed, “I’ve really never been swimming, I don’t even know if I can or if I’ll just fucking flail around until I drown.”

Hey, this might be a good thing, you could totally use this to your advantage. Shit no, don’t smile about it, then it’ll just seem creepy.

“I could teach you if you like,” you offer, probably coming across as snobbish with how nonchalant you’re trying to be, “it’s not that hard, and you havve gills so it’d be pretty difficult for you to drowwn.” You pause to let Karkat speak, then carry on when he barely even looks at you, “Wwe don’t havve to do it here, you could come and use my pool, it’s heated an’ evverythin’.”

Okay that’s the worst offer ever; he was in the middle of telling you how he’s never been outside earlier, _and_ his pool is bigger than yours and probably also heated, why would he want to come to the palace to swim?

“But I wwouldn’t be avverse to teachin’ you here either, it’d get me awway from his royal chutewwaste at least.” What do you do when Karkat doesn’t talk? Fill the dead air with your own voice of course! “An’ my pool’s saltwwater so freshwwater might be a better place to start anywway-.”

“Eridan,” Karkat cuts you off, pulling the fastenings of his shirt tight behind him – you didn’t even notice that he’d gotten re-dressed, “shut up.”

“ _Excuse me_ _?_ ” You know you were rambling but that’s just plain rude.

“I told you to shut up.” Karkat replies, his demeanour back to its usual controlled indignation.

Then he smiles slightly, and what little irritation you’d amassed completely melts away.

“Is that a no on the swwimmin’ then?”

“More of a not yet, like the whole party at the palace thing,” He sighs out a short laugh, “I don’t think I’m ready to go out into the world with all those other assholes.”

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t disappointed, but you put on a brave face and say “I don’t blame you, they really are all a bunch a bulges out there.”

He smirks, “Takes one to know one.”

You give him a playful smack on the arm without thinking, but instead of freaking out, he smacks you back.

“Hey!” You pick up a pillow to use as a shield when he goes for another swipe. “I’m royalty remember; you’re not supposed ta hit your prince.”

“You’re not supposed to hit your pets either.” He uses his own pillow to beat you over the head.

One of your horns snags on the cloth, sending feathers up into the air when Karkat pulls the cushion back. He laughs, blowing a few white puffs your way, and you blow them back. He looks so pretty with the feathers falling around him, like some angelic being right out of a fantasy movie, all sweet and innocent. Well, y’know, until they show you your darkest fears and drive you to insanity, but let’s forget that part – forget about _everything_ and just focus on Karkat. He _needs_ to know how you feel, if you don’t say something you’re going to explode.

“You’re not a pet,” Both of you are smiling, but you look deep into his eyes as you speak, in hopes that he’ll know you’re being serious, “you nevver wwere, not evven wwhen I used to treat you like you wwere just my property, wwhich wwas wwrong an’ stupid of me.”

Karkat tilts his head, expression tinged with confusion. This is your chance Eri, just fucking say it.

You put your hands on the remains of the pillow he’s holding, gripping it tightly just inches away from his own tensed fingers, “Kar, I knoww I’vve got a pretty fuckin’ awwful wway a showwin’ it, but I do like you, really like you.” okay, this isn’t going too badly, he’s still listening and you’re still able to make a semi-coherent sentence.

A whole range of emotions flit across his face, and your pusher throws itself at your chest every time it changes, like a roulette ball trying to land on the winning number. And that winning number is the way he gives you a lopsided smile that makes you forget how to breathe.

“I, I like you too,” He says, “you can be a real jackass sometimes, especially when you talk about the Haemospectrum, and your taste in movies needs a lot of work.”

You roll your eyes dramatically, but you can’t keep up the façade when his warm hands slide over yours.

“But you can also be funny, and sweet, and you’re one of the first people who’s treated me like I’m an actual Troll, not just some fucking sideshow freak who doesn’t know how to take care of himself or needs to be culled.”

“I’d nevver think that.”

You trace your fingers up his arm, and he watches you with the same rapture as the first time. This is perfect, he’s totally okay with this. Then there’s a knock at the door and you could just _strangle_ whoever’s on the other side.

“Finish up shark-bait, it’s time to go.”

Fucking _Dualscar_ , of course it would be _him_.

Karkat starts, but doesn't move away.

“I’ll come back tomorroww.” You tell him, giving his hands one last squeeze before you get up.

“I’ll hold you to that.” He shouts after you, waiting until he knows Dualscar will be able to hear.

You flash him a smile, then close the door, keeping the smug grin on your face as you follow your Ancestor back to the carriage. You are _so_ going to have dreams about swimming with Karkat later, and the best part is that one day they’re going to come true.

***

Your Descendant is an idiot. You’ve known this for quite some time, but when he emerged from that mutant’s cage with a smirk plastered on his face, it really hit home just how few brain cells he has. Even when you told him that he’d have to meet with The Grand Highblood before he can visit tomorrow night, he just nodded and hummed and skipped to the carriage. Fucking _skipped_. Not only does he make the most flamboyant fashion choices possible, including those ridiculous ruby studs he asked you to order from overseas, he parades around like a child with their first hunting trophy.

In this utterly wigglerish bliss, he seems to have forgotten about his pheromones, the ones that let you know exactly how hard he’s fallen flushed for that little freak. So you remind him over dinner, tease him about it, snarl in his face when he gives you a blushing scowl. At least he still puts up a fight. You don’t hate your spawn by any means, you just wish he would live up to his caste’s standards. Honestly, you’re quite glad he’s only got a human for a Moirail, otherwise you’d never be able to get _any_ aggression out of him. He’s too desperate for attention. It’s a fucking disgrace to the Ampora name.

Still, you suppose it will prevent arguments when you tell him he has to get that mutant over a pail before he hits ten sweeps. Hopefully there won’t be any more of his ‘only if Kar wants to’ shit. _Kar._ Kar this, Kar that _,_ it’s all you ever hear him talk about. Not to you obviously, to the humans and the servants, but it’s enough to get on your nerves. He seems happy to have a Lowblood barkbeast at his command, but not in the way he should be. It’s as if he really does expect a relationship from this, believes that little _Kar_ will happily pretend he’s been claimed for the rest of his life. Oh yes, Eridan thinks you’re clueless but you know exactly how much of a failure his last visit was. It’s not entirely his fault though, the claiming was only a theory, one that turned out to be wrong. But it will be interesting to see how long they keep up their charade.

“Your Domination, a word if I may.”

You glance up from your desk, nodding when a familiar shadow fills the doorway.

“You may, Darkleer.”

For such a hulk of a man, he’s so timid whenever he approaches you – shoulders hunched and hands together in front of him. Reminds you of Eridan whenever he thinks he’s due a scolding. It’s rather satisfying.

“The permits my Lord.” He says, gingerly placing a file on your desk.

You pick it up and skim through the papers inside, “Ah, excellent, you can go.”

“Yes your Domination, thank you.” He nods and leaves you in peace.

Finally, something’s actually going right around here. Who knew you needed special permission just to keep a mutant?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been working on this for a while, trying to figure out the plot and such. Hope this update is okay since it's been a real process to get it finished haha.


	8. Chapter 8

“Hey, Fishbro!” Gamzee throws his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into the Grand Highblood’s palace.

You stumble forwards, catching your Ancestors smirking as you pass them. Great first impression to make on someone you haven’t seen since you were five, especially when you’re about to be a part of some important ‘meeting’ with him. Not that you'll have an input of course. You see Gamzee every so often, at parties or other gatherings, but his Ancestor never leaves his palace. Note to self, do not look him in the eyes because it is still _terrifying_ no matter how old you are. Dualscar seems to agree, standing deathly still as he spends way too long admiring the hideous clown paintings for it to be out of genuine interest. Thankfully, you’re still too busy tripping over your own feet to look anywhere else.

Gamzee notices your struggling and drops his arm with a husky laugh, “Sorry ‘bout that man, I forget how tall a motherfucker I am sometimes.”

“It’s fine Gamz.” You straighten your back and force a smile.

You remember a time when Gamzee used to be the _shorter_ one, but now there’s almost as much height difference between the two of you as there is between Dualscar and the Grand Highblood. You rarely feel inferior around other people, but right now you’re the shortest person in the room and it doesn’t help to know that any of the others could snap you like a twig if they wanted to. An outcome which, considering these ‘people’ consist of two stoned Purple-bloods, an older sea-dweller who you’re pretty sure hates you, and a bunch of Indigos who would quite happily off their ruler and his heir, is becoming more and more likely.

You’re doing this to see Karkat. You’ve got to remember that. Hoo boy, you thought a couple of sweeps worth of growing would mean you could at least look Gamzee’s ancestor in the pecks, but either he’s grown too or you were a lot smaller than you remember.

“Good evvening.” You say, nodding politely to the monstrous land-dweller in front of you.

He nods back. That’s good right? You mean, you’re both the royalty of your races, no need to go bowing to each other. Then he taps Gamzee’s shoulder, gesturing to a corridor with his thumb after the younger Troll looks up at him.

“Yeheah, you got it big man.” Gamzee gives the Grand Highblood a grin, then holds an arm out and ushers you across the room – without actually touching you this time, thank God.

You follow him without sparing a glance backwards, walking in silence until he leads you into a room at the end of the hallway. After the door is closed, both of you let out a sigh. Gamzee immediately flops back on his sleeping platform, and you lean against the wall nearby.

“Tough perigee?” You inquire.

“Yeah man fuck,” He puts an arm over his eyes, “motherfuckers expect me to do all kinds a shit now I’m seven, it’s like what’s the big deal? It’s just a fuckin’ number.”

“It’s ‘cause wwe’re important,” you tell him for what must be at least the fourth sweep in a row, “wwe can’t just livve off a other people all our livves.”

“Guess you’re right brother.” He rolls over and drags his claws through the tangled nest he calls hair.

Then he sits up and presses a button on the wall – several times in fact – until there’s a knock at the door, followed by a sheepish voice.

“You uh, called for me, sir?”

“I did indeed my little man.” Gamzee replies, a smile back on his face as the door opens and a Bronze-blood you vaguely recognise slips into the room.

His horns are fucking _huge_ , draped in silver and purple jewellery that matches the embroidery on his clothes. Yeah you definitely know this kid. You think his name begins with an N. Or a T. Or maybe both. Not that it matters because he’s a Lowblood, but you pride yourself on having a rather decent memory so it’s going to bug you until you think of it.

Gamzee holds out his arms, now sitting on the edge of the platform. The Bronze-blood glances at you, then shuffles over and plops himself down on Gamzee’s lap, visibly relaxing as the Highblood wraps his long arms around him. You wish Kar would do that more often. Save for Dualscar, you’re the safest Troll on the planet to be around, let alone favoured by. Quite considerably favoured, actually.

“So,” Gamzee’s drawl brings you out of your thoughts, “I heard you’ve gone and got yourself a warm blooded companion of your own.”

Your back stiffens. Just how many people know about this? It seemed as if Dualscar was trying to keep it a secret. You’re both amused and sickened when you remember that the Makaras don’t always have to rely on physical persuasion to get information. Or any type of persuasion at all, in fact. You hope the Grand Highblood made your Ancestor suffer to get that out of him – although knowing Dualscar, he probably slurred it out after naught but a bribe of alcohol.

“I ain’t gonna judge.” He continues, petting between the smaller Troll’s horns – the kid looks so relaxed that he might fall asleep. You’re not jealous. You just… He shouldn’t be doing it in front of you. That’s like Dave papping you under the eyes of other nobility; it’s just not done. “All I wanna know, is when do I get to meet the little motherfucker?”

You’re taken aback for a moment, “Meet him?”

He chuckles, “Your little friend man, if he’s got you all flustered then I gotta congratulate him.” Another dry laugh has blood prickling in your cheeks.

“F-flust-! I am not fuckin’ flustered!” You certainly sound it though, much to your frustration. “An’ if it seems that wway it’s not ‘cause of _him_ , it’s you bein’ all touchy feely with _your_ ‘little friend’.”

The Bronze shrinks back against Gamzee’s arm, eyeing you warily as his… Master, you suppose, continues to treat him like a barkbeast. _Good_. He should be afraid of everyone else.

“I still wanna meet him.” Gamzee mumbles, staring at the floor as he twists his fingers through the Troll’s hair. Then his gaze snaps back up to you, “Ah fuck man, I’m talkin’ about meetin’ your friend when I never even introduced mine.” He stands up, forcing the other Troll to find his feet. “This here is Tavros.”

Tavros. Tavros. You definitely know that name. You squint and picture him with wings, and then suddenly it clicks. “As in Tavros Nitram? Descendant of the Summoner”

The kid looks petrified; his hair practically standing on end and hands quivering at his sides.

“The very same mi amigo.” Gamzee, by contrast, is completely calm.

Yet even as he drapes himself over Nitram’s shoulders in an attempt at reassurance, smiling in that dopey, unnervingly unreadable way, the other Troll remains still as a statue. Does he think you’re going to cull him? In the Makara hive and with Gamzee right there? He must be an idiot. Either that, or he’s been taught to fear every Highblood who so much as looks at him. Last sweep you might have thought it a good thing, but now it just makes you think about Karkat being that way and… It’s almost sad.

“He’s got his powers too.” Gamzee says, after a few moments of silent eye contact between you and his little ‘friend’. “He can talk to all those motherfuckin’ wonderful critters out there, ain’t that right Tavbro?”

Tavros nods sharply. So he’s a mutant too. Not as much as Kar, obviously, but mind abilities aren’t exactly common. You feel a strange pride, knowing that you’ve got the rarer mutant. But you haven’t ‘got’ him, have you? Yes, his papers may have your sign on, but you told him that he wasn’t just a possession in your eyes and you believe that. You think. _Ugh_. You know the way Dualscar wants you to think isn’t right, but this internal war you fight every time you go against his views, it almost makes you wish you’d never changed yours in the first place.

Gamzee, as expected, hasn’t noticed your silence. He’s too busy fussing over Nitram, who has apparently found his voice now.

“I should go, uh, help prepare dinner.” He mumbles, so quietly that if were just a regular land-dweller you probably wouldn’t have heard.

Oh, right, you’re staying for dinner. Excellent. More opportunities to make a fool of yourself in front of arguably the most terrifying authority figure, bar your own Ancestor. Actually no, even if Dualscar was in the running, he still wouldn’t be at the top of your list.

Why couldn’t he have just left you back at the palace?

***

Dinner is an… Interesting affair. The Makaras have an unsurprising lack of basic table manners. So much so, that you lose your appetite after the first course – and not just because the food all smells like it’s got a little something extra in it. Dualscar tries to impress the Grand Highblood with tales of his conquests, but the guy’s so impassive that you can’t tell if he’s tolerating it or thinking of ways to strangle his guest. Gamzee pipes up every so often, talking to you at a completely inappropriate volume considering that you’re seated opposite each other. He rambles about clowns, and miracles, and all the usual poppycock that you’ve learned to nod at but ignore. You like to think you’ve perfected your expression of passive interest, because even when your mind wanders you can keep your eyes from getting too unfocussed.

Overall, it’s not as bad as you expected, but still a monumental waste of time as far as productivity goes, and you're not even sure what their 'meeting' was about or if it even happened at all. Then as you’re waiting for Dualscar to finish sucking up already so you can leave, Gamzee does something useful for once. He draws you off to one side and pulls a tatty piece of paper from his pocket.

“I was gonna tell you this earlier, but I all up and forgot,” He chuckles slightly and hands you the paper, “I found this in some old book, it’s about your little warmblood’s Ancestor and lemme tell you, he was one crazy motherfucker, challenging the Empress and shit.”

Once you get over the horror at realising he tore this directly from what appears to be a rather ancient tome, you scan your eyes over the page. You’ve heard the history of this guy – the Signless, he was called, some crazy preacher who thought he could change the world – and by the looks of things, the general story is all here. Written in common Alternian too, which must mean it was a book meant for the masses, or those who could read at least. But why?

“An’ wwhy are you givvin’ it to me?”

He shrugs, “Thought you might be interested is all, might come in handy with the permits and whatnot, y’know?”

You frown, “Permits?”

“For your friend, you do want him in the palace, right?”

Oh. You thought you could just walk him in, seeing as you’re the heir apparent, and he hasn’t got any abilities. If anything you’d be there for his protection, not to keep him from posing a threat. Still, it’s good to know in advance – Dualscar would no doubt try to twist everything and either derail your plans, or tell you they didn’t work without even trying. Well not tonight, because for once, _you_ have the upper hand. Or a level playing field anyway.

You thank Gamzee – and his Ancestor – then silently get in the carriage back to the palace. Dualscar talks about himself the whole way, so you’re guessing he has no idea what Gamzee told you. Regardless, you’re sure to hide the paper under the loose floorboard in your block as soon as possible, just in case someone decides to go snooping. It fits in with a bunch of silly raps Dave wrote for you – he uses common Alternian too, and for once you’re glad of it – so even if someone did look, it wouldn’t be _that_ obvious.

Hopefully he’ll be back soon so you can talk all of this out. The sooner you can get Kar out of that place, the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO. This happened. Apologies for the unplanned haitus, and the shortness of the chapter. I'll try to get this back on track soon, hopefully.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you are enjoying this! Kudos and comments are always appreciated!
> 
> I now have a Tumblr! You can ask questions about this or any of my other fics and AUs, or just pop along to say hi! http://slavetomykeyboard.tumblr.com


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